AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Vaughn
People mill around in the distance, talking in small groups or slowly making their way to their cars and saying the kinds of things people say at times like this. “Such a beautiful service,” or “He’s at peace now.” Yes, and hopefully, but my guess is funerals are for the living rather than the deceased. I know the person I’m most concerned about is standing right in front of me, looking pale and tired.
I don’t want to add to Kendall’s burden. I didn’t come all this way to cause more stress during one of the most difficult times in her life. I sure as hell didn’t intend to turn a memorial service into a fucking photo op and watch a grieving mother hold Kendall accountable for the bad behavior of grown-ass adults who can’t keep their curiosity in check during a funeral for one of their own. But that’s how it went down, and now the Town Car’s engine idles in time to the seconds ticking off in my mind, reminding me I’m running out of chances to turn “for now” into “for keeps.” Hell, I don’t even know if she’s still coming back to California.
I wrap my arms around her and slowly pull her close until our bodies touch. She doesn’t resist, but she holds herself stiff for a moment, then sighs and relaxes into me. Her arms link around my waist and tighten in a quick, almost desperate hug. “Thank you for being here. I don’t know how I would have made it through without you, but…”
No buts. I tighten my arms when she tries to ease away. “You would have made it through the same way you made it through everything that came before this—with honesty and courage.” Before she can argue I kiss her. A little hard, a little possessive, because I need to make sure she feels the truth of my next words. “But here’s the thing. I want to be with you. Not just for this trying time, but for all the times. It’s kind of a permanent thing. My heart is yours. I need you to know that.”
She pales further, which I didn’t think was possible, and shakes her head. So much for not adding to her stress.
“I don’t… I can’t take it, Vaughn. As much as I want to, at the end of the day your father was right—”
“My father was out of line. He has been for a long time, and I’ve finally gotten him to wake up to it. We’ve talked. Our relationship has been broken for years and one phone call won’t fix it, but he knows I’m not going to accept things the way they were. I’m taking control of my life and career.”
“He’s just trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting. Not anymore. And never from you.” I pause to let that sink in. “You’re my brave, fierce guardian angel.”
“I’m not.” The denial is instant and breathless. She starts to pull away, then changes her mind, grasps my shoulders, and tries to give me a shake—which is pretty much like a butterfly trying to shake a tree, but I sense her rising panic. “I’m none of those things, because the idea of my past mistakes being splashed around for public consumption terrifies me. Mason’s death doesn’t erase my mistake. It doesn’t protect his parents from the nightmare of seeing their deepest tragedy served up as entertainment, like what happened today. It doesn’t shield you from—”
“I don’t need shielding, but I can do right by you and the people you care about. You would have to trust me to make sure it wasn’t a nightmare. That’s all, Kendall.” I hold her stare, attempting to sway her through sheer force of my will. “Just trust me. Let me be your guardian angel.”
Smooth hands link at the back of my neck. She rises to her tiptoes and slams her mouth against mine, and then holds on like I’m the only solid thing in her world. For a second I think I’ve won, but then I taste her tears on my lips. “I c-can’t,” she whispers when she draws back. “Please don’t text or call. It’s too hard. Good-bye, Vaughn.”
Feeling her move away from me is like relinquishing a limb or a vital organ. It’s oddly soundless, considering how deeply I feel my insides tear. I watch her leave through a haze of pain. I can’t slay this dragon for her. I do understand the stakes. I already paid my own at the hands of the media, and they were pretty fucking steep—I got a text from my agent last night confirming America Rocks rescinded their offer—but I paid that price willingly, because being with the woman I love in her hour of need was more important than fighting to keep a job. It hurts knowing she doesn’t care enough to fight for us, too, but I can’t make her trust me.
The driver coughs into his fist to get my attention. “We need to head out now if you want to make your flight.”
Right. Numbness sets in as I ride to the airport. I’m on autopilot through the terminal and the flight. My body is present and accounted for, but my head’s somewhere else. It’s back in Lake Geneva, standing on a path at a cemetery, replaying the conversation with Kendall and wondering what I could have said, should have said, to convince her we’re worth the risk. Should I have told her I lost the America Rocks job? I didn’t, because she had enough sadness to deal with. She didn’t need mine. Especially when it doesn’t fundamentally change anything. I’m not going to quit pursuing my professional goals because one fell through, which means for Kendall to be with me, she has to be 100 percent sure that if her past comes to light, she can trust me to say and do the right things to protect her and the people she cares about.
I still haven’t figured out how to prove I can do this by the time I’m wheels down at LAX, but when the ding sounds, signaling it’s okay to take phones off airplane mode, mine’s in my hand, automatically checking to see if I have a text from Kendall. My heart doesn’t want to give up on us.
Kendall hasn’t reached out, but my phone’s been busy while I’ve been out of the loop. Several of the social media icons are dotted with tiny red circles containing unexpectedly high white numbers considering I haven’t posted anything in a couple of days. A quick scroll through Instagram tells me what’s up—photos of Kendall and me at the funeral with accompanying text that holds nothing back. I’m tagged, and Kendall, along with reference to the accident and speculation about us. Same show on Facebook and Twitter.
My phone slips from my sweating palm before I can check my text messages. Fuck. This is bad. The likelihood of someone besides my dad identifying Kendall as the girl in the YouTube video just got a lot higher, except now Kendall’s backstory will be attached. Her worst fear is forming like a tornado on the horizon, and there’s no containing it. Not when the posts are coming from the personal accounts of people in her hometown rather than a tabloid. I shouldn’t have gone to the funeral. I should have realized this could happen. If my father were standing beside me right now he’d be saying, “I told you so,” in his most infuriating voice. My heart pounds in my ears. I want to hurdle seats and push my way off the plane, but I bank the impulse and scoop my phone off the floor. I can’t undo this. And I probably can’t stop the story from making the jump from social media to mainstream media, but I can make sure I don’t add to the damage. I can provide Kendall some shelter from the harshest elements of this storm. I love her, and I need to protect her, even if she ends up hating me for what’s happened. I quickly search my messages, looking for the one person I know can help me do what I have to do. He’s there. My dad texted twice. The first is consolation. Nina told meAmerica Rocks withdrew their offer. I’m sorry. You earned it, and it’s their loss. I thought I’d mentally accepted this outcome, but an avalanche of new disappointment tumbles through the hole in my chest where my heart used to be and lands heavily. His next text is hours later, obviously in response to the social media activity. Instead of the “told-you-so” I predicted, the message simply says, Let me help.
Am I certain he knows how to dial back his ambitions and support me rather than direct me? No. But he wants to help, and I want to give him the chance. I’d like to feel like my dad has my back—as a dad—not as someone orchestrating my every move. We’ll see.
I call. He picks up on the first ring, and he listens without interruption, which is a major change. Within seconds he’s up to speed, including how I want to handle this situation. Instead of trying to talk me out of it, he tells me he’ll meet me at my place so we can get to work. He’s endeavoring to get behind my decisions, not make them for me, and that’s a distinction I appreciate. Even in the middle of a shitstorm.
He’s also genuinely good at crisis communications. He knows who to call and how to get the message out. I’m calmer just for having run through it with him, I realize, while retrieving my bag from the overhead compartment. He’s not trying to take over, or tell me to do this thing his way or the sky will fall. The sky is falling no matter what we do, it’s just a question of whether we can get it to land in the least impactful place.
When I open the front door for him ninety minutes later, he gives me a hug. “Thanks for letting me help with this, Vaughn. I know Kendall’s important to you. I get that now.”
“She is.” I pat his shoulder a little awkwardly—we’ve never had the most demonstrative relationship—and lead him to the office. “Thanks for stepping up.”
I take a seat behind the desk and gesture my dad to one of the chairs on the other side. Last time he stood where I am, perhaps unconsciously taking the power position, while I faced him from the subordinate side. It’s not lost on me that the tables are turned this time.
His decision to investigate Kendall’s past and deem her unacceptable isn’t what we’re here to talk about, but it still sticks in my craw, so I can’t stop myself from taking the detour. “You’re not the least bit tempted to tell me we could have avoided all this if I’d just listened to you?”
He takes off his suit jacket and sits. I don’t know what he dropped to rush to my side, but based on how he’s dressed I’m guessing it was business. “No. I overstepped where she’s concerned. I’ve just…” He studies me as he considers his words. “I’m not sure when I started to see people as potential problems simply because they hadn’t come vetted through me, but I did. The easy answer is because you’re my child and I want to protect you, but there are other, less admirable factors, I’m afraid. Ambition. Positioning. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s important because you’re too focused on what’s strategic.”
“Like Becca? She was strategic?”
This pulls a dull laugh out of him. “So much for protecting you, huh?”
“Dad, I’m not a child. I’ll always appreciate your expertise, but I don’t need protection.”
